To Act as a Hero

"Did you have to tell him it was my fault?" Snape asked in annoyance as they walked down the corridor away from Dumbledore's office. They had to go the same direction; neither actually wanted to be walking with the other.

"You're welcome," came James's quiet reply. Did Snape really expect him to incriminate his best friend? Facing consequences or not, Sirius was still speaking with Dumbledore. James's heart was heavy in his chest as he thought of the punishment Padfoot may have to serve.

At least no one was hurt.

Moony was still unavailable for questioning, to put it one way, and Wormtail had slept through the whole thing. It was almost one o'clock in the morning.

And James had just risked his life to save that of his worst enemy in order to impress some girl, and then he had---

"You should be thankful I neglected to mention you had only been asking us for, oh, months," James continued. "And that he thought I spent all that time dragging you out instead of--"

"Shut up, Potter."

For once, James respected Snape's wishes. Against his will, his mind drifted back to the events of the evening.

"Where's Snivellus?"

"He's at an important meeting."

"What do you mean?"

"I arranged an appointment for him under the Whomping Willow."

James stared at Sirius for a moment before it dawned on him. Then he joked, "I know you don't like the guy, but murder isn't exactly legal."

Sirius grinned momentarily, and then his eyes grew wide as the gears in his head turned and he realized what he had done. Maliciousness turned suddenly to fear and he glanced towards the Whomping Willow as if expecting to see a mangled body shoot forth from it.

"Wait. You're serious."

"Who else would I be?" he asked, distracted.

But James, laidback, mellow James, didn't hear because he was already sprinting away with ardor, already running running running because although he hated Snape, he couldn't just let him die, could he?. He felt a momentary surge of anger at Sirius for being so reckless, and then at Peter for encouraging him, and then at Remus for putting lives in danger just by his existence. And then he berated himself and kept on running because they were his best friends.

Then he had reached the tree and instead of using a bough to press the knot, James barged right though the branches and hoped for the best. He emerged at the trunk of the tree, bruised and scratched but not any less determined, and scrambled through the opening because how could he stop to catch his breath when the unthinkable was about to happen?

James tore down the tunnel, gasping in the dark, barking out a Lumos, deathly afraid of what he might find. "Snape?" Would he even want to be saved?he thought. What an interesting news story it would make, the perfect revenge through causing remorse. It was the first coherent thought he'd had had since he'd left Sirius at the pitch too many minutes ago.

Maybe it was luck that made things work out, or maybe the cause was more practical. Maybe it was because James's legs were long, his figure lithe and fast, his lungs elastic, and his heart determined. He was moving much faster than Snape, infinitely faster because Snape had stopped partway through the tunnel upon hearing the echoes of distant and deranged howls, and had stood paralyzed with fear.

The slap of James's feet and his panting breaths as he came around the corner did not ease him, and they didn't scare him, either. He barely even noted the black-haired boy who looked both relieved and anxious, who started pulling on his arm, who urged, "Come on, Snape, and I swear I'll say you got away on your own." In fact, it was at that moment that it almost seemed to him that Potter hadn't really done anything wrong, that he hadn't meant the jeers and he hadn't meant any of it, and that there was such a thing as integrity and that everything was forgiven.

And then the needling made him remember that James had taken Severus's pants off in front of the whole school and that now he was only saving his own skin and babying him while he was at it, and all of a sudden he forgot that maybe Potter had virtue and he started hating him again, more fiercely than ever, the way a trapped animal hates the human who looks at it with pity and sets it free.

Snape hated pity - he hated this - he hated James Potter.

The hate began to ferment painfully inside him. And while it ripped at his insides, he heard footsteps from further down the tunnel. Not human footsteps, like Lupin's who had come this way. They were soft ones. And their stealthy silence held more foreboding than any noise ever could.

And then Snape was rooted to the ground as he caught sight of the shadow of a prowling werewolf coming around the corner. It was hard to say when the werewolf itself would be there.

Neither he nor Potter moved. For one second they stayed perfectly still, looking blankly and with unshed fear at the shadow. They didn't breathe. They didn't run. Snape blinked. And then Potter stepped in front of him and took a deep breath and pushed him back. Snape stumbled.

The werewolf - Lupin, it must have been Lupin - growled with a deep gurgle whose vibrations echoed off the walls. And then they were running; Potter grabbed him by the waist (what are you doing, you bloody faggot?) and was pushing him along (oh, how he hated Potter), and they were running running running, tired as hell, being chased for their lives, until they got to the entrance and Snape, whom James was selflessly pushing along before him, put his foot on the rock and started to climb. As James regretfully, eyes squeezed shut, kicked at the snarling wolf and swing his fists menacingly, Snape tried to escape before it was too late, (don't worry about Potter I'm almost safe) but he fell back and something cracked and something hurt and there was no way he could climb now.

So James, honest, decent, valiant James Potter turned to face him and with a great grunt of effort, lifted him by the waist of his trousers and pushed him up through the opening at eye level, holding Snape while he got his head through and found somewhere to grip, letting go momentarily to growl at Lupin, turning back to catch the falling boy by the bottom and push him up again, in a manner that was uncomfortable for them both, (and Snape felt extreme annoyance at having his bottom grabbed and almost instantly found that the friction from the ground was making him hard) and Snape kicked once and was through, and James jumped and hoisted himself up and in a fraction of a second was balancing by his waist, too high for the werewolf (I'm sorry for kicking you Moony please forgive me) to nip at his feet. There was an outraged animal howl behind him and then James was through and away from danger and had fallen right on top of Snape.

Adrenaline was pumping through Snape like crazy and he was out of breath and panting. It didn't help that he had skipped his normal before-bed routine in favor of sneaking off to spy, which that had been a bad idea because he was bloody sixteen, after all. Besides, it had been awfully hot and steamy in the tunnel, and it was all urging on the hormones that had been waiting anxiously somewhere around his balls and couldn't have been up to any good.

"You saved my life," he whispered, trying to push them aside.

And James said, honestly, "I would have done that for anyone."

The branches around them still whipped and twisted as they always had, barring their way out. Instead of stilling them, James pulled his charge around to the far side of the tree, the one that couldn't be seen from the building, and made him sit down. Snape was desperately trying to look like he hadn't been close to tears.

James wondered where Sirius was. Getting help? No, as much faith as he had in his friend, James doubted that Sirius would put himself out to help Snivellus. And he wouldn't risk getting either of them in trouble.

Snape shivered, James's limbs still partway tangled in his after trying to move them. James tried to extract his wand hand from behind Snape's back but it was no good; they both tumbled in a heap with no sense of up and down.

"Geroff," said James, his voice muffled by some fleshy body part he couldn't identify.

"No, you're on top."

"Am not."

"Yes, Potter, you are."

"No, I'm not," James said again, pushing up on the part draped over him and trying unsuccessfully to flip Snape over. His attempts didn't work and instead he found that there was something remarkably hard pushing into his stomach.

James gulped. He was ticklish, especially in his stomach and especially when it was bare, as it was now, his shirt having somehow ridden up. A chill went through him, along his sensitive nerves, and right back down to his cock, which also started to stiffen.

Snape must have felt that, James knew, noting that there was something very much like a leg opposite his middle. Snape did, and, before he knew what he was doing, inched his body down along James's until they were even. James, on the bottom, was too shocked to yelp, and instead looked up at Snape's determined face.

And then, gripped by something he would never be able to name and never begin to understand, he exhaled sharply and reached down to their waists and past and put his hand there. And Snape followed suit and put his hand there as well and their fingers brushed each other's fingers, as well as a slight sweep across each other's cocks, and then Snape took the initiative and felt around for the buckle of James's trousers. James let the boy do it, and he lifted himself up so that Snape could pull down his trousers and seconds later his pants, until he was lying partly naked on the bare, wet ground. Then he was pushing at Snape's trousers until they slid over his hips, and they found that they were both naked from the waist to the ankles.

Both of them now rock hard, they looked at each other, Snape on top and James pinned under him. James began to stroke gently and Snape, at first, closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. Their cocks were touching and James was petting both of theirs at once, and then Snape joined in, opening his eyes and grinning. James had never expected to see that look on his face. Snape smiled roguishly as he put his other hand between their bodies, using both to stroke faster and faster and faster.

James's hands fell away to the cold ground beside him, his chest heaving and eyes back in his head, looking at the dark sky behind him, breathing ever more rushed. He felt the reaction start deep inside him as Snape pushed his hand farther back and for a moment, rubbed his balls. Then James's hips were arching and he was pressing himself up up up and breathing with his mouth wide open, and Snape began to quiver again, and his eyes closed, and James pushed his lips shut and managed a loud "Uuuuuhhnnn!" and grabbed at Snape's skin above him, and breathed one last time, eyes wide, before each's spurt sparked the other's and they both came at once; Snape yelling loudly as if in pain and James's eyelids fluttering gratifyingly.

Snape's back had been arched with his hands still down; now he let himself fall and lay squarely on top of the sweating, shuddering James, and they each sucked air, panting, with their eyes closed until James finally opened his eyes and flared his nostrils and suddenly was disgusted and wanted to get up and run away and never come back.

Sirius had indeed called for help, and help, in the form of Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore and McGonagall had indeed arrived, with James and Snape hearing their frantic yells and their heavy footfalls in just enough time to mutter a cleaning spell and get dressed again and for Snape to sit down and James to stand up.

"Did you get in trouble, Sirius?" James asked the next morning.

Instead of answering, Sirius looked at the breakfast table in front of him. "James?" he began. He considered his words and spoke them with a rare show of solemnity. "What's it like to be a hero?"